Everything Under The Sun excerpt
Today is May 3! Which means we are two days from Cinco de Mayo! Six days from Mother's Day! And sixteen days from the release of Everything Under The Sun! How can you contain yourselves? :D
Okay, well, I may be more excited about that third one than the rest of you, but still. The traditional way to celebrate the release of one's first book being just a little more than two weeks away? A big fat excerpt. So here you go. Chapter One is below. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter One
Chris drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, exhaling in frustration. Fucking traffic. It was hot, he’d been working all day, and he still smelled like the pool, since he’d been so impatient to get out of there at five o’clock that he’d skipped his usual shower. He’d just climbed down from the lifeguard chair, tossed his whistle in the box in the back office, grabbed his T-shirt and headed for the car. If there was one thing he liked about living in southern California, it was that he never had to bother with much clothing. But one thing he hated, among many, was the traffic.
The pickup ahead of him moved forward a few inches, and Chris dutifully shifted the car into gear again and inched up behind it. But as they came to a full stop again, he dropped his head back onto the headrest, cursing under his breath. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. He glared at the vehicles in front of him, wishing for a moment that he were stuck behind the wheel of a monster truck instead of his beat-up hatchback, so he could just roll right over everyone. These people needed to get the hell out of his way. Didn’t they know that Seth was coming home today?
Closing his eyes, Chris bit his lip a little. He was being an idiot, and he knew it. He’d hardly spoken to Seth since the guy had left for college in September. A handful of e-mails. One drunken phone call that Chris immediately regretted. Nothing that would suggest a pair of star-crossed lovers longing for each other across the miles. So you made out a few times last summer, Chris thought. Big deal. Nobody even knew. Nobody probably ever would.
A horn blasted from behind him and Chris jumped, opening his eyes to find that the pickup had moved another few feet. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, closing the distance again. Because it’s so fucking vital that we be as close as possible to each other while we’re sitting here in the fucking parking lot otherwise known as the 405. Running his hand through his hair, he shot the driver behind him a dirty look. But then he took off his sunglasses, throwing them on the passenger seat and rubbing his eyes. He was grouchy. Probably just tired. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately. Which wasn’t exactly anything new.
He was happy with the lifeguarding gig, in theory. Definitely happy that he’d bucked the trend and not shipped off to college last fall like everybody else in his class. He’d decided that he was going to figure out his own way, and his mom could just deal with it. But the plan had been to work at the pool for a few months until he’d figured out something else, gotten a real job, moved into his own place, maybe even gotten a boyfriend. None of which had happened. Particularly not the boyfriend part.
There had been exactly nothing going on in the boyfriend department, not even a date, nothing. A few furtive trips to an all-ages gay club, but he couldn’t get up the nerve to talk to anyone. And he spent the rest of his time shuttling between the pool and his mom’s house, neither of which tended to present him with a lot of romantic opportunities. The only new person he’d spoken to lately was his neighbor, a recent transplant from the east coast named Alex who was almost certainly straight and who was ridiculously, frustratingly hot. Dark hair and eyes against perfect pale skin, with an athlete’s body and a deep voice that held just a hint of a Boston accent, just enough to make him mysterious and different from the rest. Alex had crept into Chris’s thoughts an embarrassing amount recently, just more proof of how pathetic and hard up he was. Damn it.
Chris rolled his eyes at himself, cursing himself for drooling over his straight neighbor again, thumping the steering wheel with the heel of his hand, wondering yet again what the hell he was doing with his life. He’d been wondering that a lot lately. And ever since Seth’s last e-mail, in which he’d said he’d be home all summer and was looking forward to seeing him, fucking looking forward to seeing him, he’d been sleepless with excitement. He’d actually been counting down the days until Seth’s arrival, and how pathetic was that?
It couldn’t all be in his head. It couldn’t be. Chris shifted in his seat, licking his lips involuntarily as his mind filled with images of the last time they’d seen each other before Seth left last summer. When they’d had a few beers, or maybe more than a few, and then Seth had been on his bed, on top of him, his mouth pressed against Chris’s in that hard, strong, demanding way he had. And everything else had been hard and demanding too. And it was different from the other times they’d done this, when Chris had tried so hard to hold back, not to touch anything below Seth’s neck, not to make a move that would freak him out and send him running for the door again. And that was okay. Seth’s hair was a mass of thick honey-brown curls, soft and messy, so different from Chris’s, and Chris loved running his hands through it when they kissed. Loved the approving little sounds Seth made when he did that. Loved how Seth would take off his glasses and toss them to the side, pull Chris a little closer, kiss him a little more. But he always stopped, always freaked out, always left. Once, he ran out so quickly that he had to come back for his glasses. Chris just handed them to him wordlessly, and he took them without speaking, freezing in the doorway for a moment, staring. But then he turned his back and hurried out the door again.
The next part was always the same. Seth would avoid him for a little while, and then start talking to him again, pretending everything was normal, that they were just buds, that they hadn’t been playing tonsil hockey on the floor of Chris’s room the previous Friday night. Then it would happen again, and then Seth would freak out again. And Chris never called him on it, never pushed him on it, never said a thing. Which maybe, yeah, sucked. But Seth was beautiful, and he had these deep brown eyes that Chris couldn’t get out of his head, and a long, lean body that Chris couldn’t stop thinking about when he jerked off. So every time Seth came back, Chris played along. One of these days, he wouldn’t freak, and they could finish what they started.
And the weekend before Labor Day, that’s sort of what happened. Kind of. Seth came over with the beers in his backpack, smuggling them past Chris’s mom and up to Chris’s room. They played Final Fantasy, and they drank beers, and they turned the stereo way up, and they drank some more beers. And then Chris had been spinning around to the music, laughing, and Seth just grabbed him and kissed him so hard he took his breath away. And they fell onto the bed together, or maybe Seth pushed him onto the bed, maybe that was it. But Seth was on top of him, his glasses on the floor, his tongue in Chris’s mouth, grinding into him. And Chris’s hands were on Seth’s ass and Seth was not stopping him, and their legs got all tangled up as they moved together, and one of them was moaning, or maybe both of them were, and within about ten seconds Chris was bucking his hips and squeezing Seth tight and gasping into his shoulder as he came in his jeans. And then Seth’s breathing got even harder and he kept pushing forward and then he came too, his ass clenching tight under Chris’s hands, a desperate groan coming out of him. He kind of fell off him then, sliding to the side, and Chris held onto his hand and somehow drifted off to sleep. And when he woke up, it was late, his jeans were cold and sticky and gross, and Seth was gone. Which didn’t even really surprise him.
He had waited a few days, and then called. But he got voice mail, which meant Seth was avoiding him, because he always picked up his phone. So he didn’t call again, and then Seth left for college, and he thought maybe that would be it, he’d never see him again. Which was okay. He told himself it would be okay. It was fine. It would be.
But a month later, Seth e-mailed him out of the blue. Hey, what’s up man. Casual and sloppy and poorly punctuated. Just like Seth. Havent talked in a while. School sukcs. Hows the pool?
Chris had stared at that e-mail for a long time, trying to decide whether to respond. You don’t need this shit, he thought. He’s closeted and stupid and can’t deal. Don’t let him off the hook. Get yourself a real boyfriend. Don’t even answer him. He was still thinking that when he typed his reply.
So now here it was, seven months later, and Seth was coming home today. A year of college under his belt, of classes and parties and all kinds of new experiences. He was probably a whole new person by now. And Chris was exactly the same. Still at his mom’s house, still working at the pool, still spending his free time drawing his dumb sketches, like he always had. And still very, very single. Painfully single, you might say. Not like his neighbor, who had that cool, confident, sexy thing going, that way about him that could make anybody smile. Alex probably dated women by the dozens, leaving a string of broken hearts from Orange County to Boston and back again. Chris knew he could never be like that, strong and brave and the kind of guy who drew others to him. Even if he were as fucking beautiful as Alex was. Which he wasn’t, not by a mile.
And so that one stupid time with Seth, that stupid fucking sexual accident, was still the only time Chris had ever come with another person in the room. Pathetic. He glared at himself in the rearview mirror, then looked out at the cars ahead of him. The cars shifted, a space opened up, and he cut over to the next lane, then drove up onto the shoulder and sped toward the exit. He was tired of fucking waiting.
God, it’s hot. Alex wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, setting down the garden shears for a moment to stretch. He hadn’t been in California long, just a couple of months so far, and he wasn’t used to the way the damned sun just never went away. Boston could get hot in the summers, no doubt about it, but not like this, not this unending stream of sunniness that could make even the happiest of guys wish for a cold and rainy day. There’s something downright unnatural about a place where it doesn’t rain.
Picking up his water bottle, Alex looked over his hedges as he took a long, slow drink. For a Saturday, there sure weren’t many people around. He never should have moved to the suburbs-he was used to a bustling neighborhood, sitting on the stoop and hanging out with his friends, walking through a street fair and piling into a cab with three other guys when it was time to go home. Here, there was no walking, no street fairs, and so far, not many friends. Just Marty, but an old ex-boyfriend from five years ago only carries you so far. And he’d been out with Marty a few times, but he couldn’t get into the club scene here, the way it was all about the clothes, the hair, the look. And living in a rented house in Costa Mesa turned out to be not the coolest possible choice for a twenty-six-year-old software engineer. Not that the place had kept him from hooking up at all, but he certainly wasn’t doing as well as he had back east.
It was his own fault for renting the house online, but he’d needed something quick, and he hadn’t had time to check out the neighborhoods. So he’d ended up here, surrounded by het families with their dogs and their minivans and their two point five kids, and now he was spending his Saturday afternoon trimming his hedges. Trimming his fucking hedges. How had his life come to this?
He glanced over to the house next door, and saw that the unfamiliar car was still sitting in the driveway. He’d gotten to know his neighbors a little bit by now, at least well enough to know who lived here and what they drove. And the kid in the convertible definitely did not belong. Tall, with a mop of curly hair, a pair of trendy heavy-rimmed glasses, and a vaguely uneasy expression on his face. Twice already, he’d started to back out of the driveway, but then pulled back in again. Right now, he was sitting in the car with the engine running, staring at the front door. Like he was trying to work up his nerve.
It was the Bennett house, one of the less crowded places on the block. Just a single mom named Lois and her son Chris, a good-looking nineteen-year-old with clear blue eyes and California blond hair that had a tendency to flop forward into his face in an endearing kind of way. Alex and Chris had chatted a few times in the past few months, enough that Alex’s gaydar had activated, enough that he knew Chris was bored and restless and looking for something new. And okay, maybe Alex had wondered if an older guy might be the something that Chris was looking for. But he squashed the thought immediately. This was southern California; the place was crawling with gays. There was no need to hit on a teenager just because he lived next door. And had the body of a God, and a habit of walking around shirtless. He closed his eyes, mentally smacking himself on the forehead. Don’t go there, he warned. Twenty-six is too young to be a dirty old man.
When he opened his eyes again, wouldn’t you know it, Chris was pulling up to the house, and Curly was already out of his car, walking up to him. Chris got out, and they stared at each other. That kind of stare. And then Chris smiled a little, and Curly nervously smiled back. Without talking, Chris walked to his front door, and Curly followed right behind him, eyes glued to Chris’s ass. Alex grinned, shaking his head a little. Looks like Chris found what he was looking for without your help. Rolling his eyes, he took another sip from his water bottle and checked his watch. Fuck! Marty’s going to kill me. He grabbed his shears and headed into the house. The hedges would have to wait.
Seth stood by the bookshelf in Chris’s room, arms folded, staring at the titles, not seeing any of them, not really. Pretending not to listen to the sound of the shower in the next room. Pretending not to think about the fact that Chris was naked in there, soaping himself, touching himself, maybe thinking about Seth. Stop it, he told himself. Don’t make this a bigger deal than it is. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turned around and walked to Chris’s doorway, leaning against the jamb, wondering for the hundredth time what he was doing there.
“So how’ve you been?” he called, toeing the carpet. Talking would make it easier. The silence was getting to him.
“Okay.” Chris’s voice came floating back to him, calm, quiet, like Chris always was. Fucking impossible to read. “Not much changes around here.”
“Yeah.” Shit. Say something else. There’s got to be something else to say.
Luckily, Chris found something for him. “What’s Maine like?”
“Oh, y’know, good. Really different.”
“I bet. Can’t get much farther from Orange County than that.”
Seth furrowed his brow. What did he mean by that? “That’s not why I went there.”
Chris was silent for a beat. “I know,” he said at last. But there was something else in his voice. Fuck. What the hell is he talking about? What the hell are you doing here?
Exhaling in frustration, Seth moved away from the door and walked back into the room, looking out the window, crossing his arms again. This was stupid. He hadn’t even planned on coming here. He’d only been back in town a few hours, and there were a lot of people he wanted to see. Maybe he should just take off. The shower shut off, and Seth’s chest got tight. This was definitely a bad idea. Make up an excuse. Tell Chris your parents want to see you, or you forgot about dinner plans. Something.
“Hey,” Chris said, the voice soft behind him, and Seth turned around, ready to explain. But Chris was right there, a towel around his waist, droplets of water clinging to his bare chest, his eyes boring into Seth’s with the clearest invitation in the world. Stay, they said. Stay and I’ll make it worth your while. And somehow, all of Seth’s words disappeared. Rational thought disappeared. Everything disappeared except the need to throw Chris on the bed and get rid of that stupid towel. “I-” Chris began. But Seth was on him, having crossed the room without even realizing he’d moved from the window, crushing their mouths together, grabbing his naked flesh, backing him toward the bed.
Sometime before they reached it, the towel dropped away.
Okay, well, I may be more excited about that third one than the rest of you, but still. The traditional way to celebrate the release of one's first book being just a little more than two weeks away? A big fat excerpt. So here you go. Chapter One is below. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter One
Chris drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, exhaling in frustration. Fucking traffic. It was hot, he’d been working all day, and he still smelled like the pool, since he’d been so impatient to get out of there at five o’clock that he’d skipped his usual shower. He’d just climbed down from the lifeguard chair, tossed his whistle in the box in the back office, grabbed his T-shirt and headed for the car. If there was one thing he liked about living in southern California, it was that he never had to bother with much clothing. But one thing he hated, among many, was the traffic.
The pickup ahead of him moved forward a few inches, and Chris dutifully shifted the car into gear again and inched up behind it. But as they came to a full stop again, he dropped his head back onto the headrest, cursing under his breath. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. He glared at the vehicles in front of him, wishing for a moment that he were stuck behind the wheel of a monster truck instead of his beat-up hatchback, so he could just roll right over everyone. These people needed to get the hell out of his way. Didn’t they know that Seth was coming home today?
Closing his eyes, Chris bit his lip a little. He was being an idiot, and he knew it. He’d hardly spoken to Seth since the guy had left for college in September. A handful of e-mails. One drunken phone call that Chris immediately regretted. Nothing that would suggest a pair of star-crossed lovers longing for each other across the miles. So you made out a few times last summer, Chris thought. Big deal. Nobody even knew. Nobody probably ever would.
A horn blasted from behind him and Chris jumped, opening his eyes to find that the pickup had moved another few feet. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, closing the distance again. Because it’s so fucking vital that we be as close as possible to each other while we’re sitting here in the fucking parking lot otherwise known as the 405. Running his hand through his hair, he shot the driver behind him a dirty look. But then he took off his sunglasses, throwing them on the passenger seat and rubbing his eyes. He was grouchy. Probably just tired. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately. Which wasn’t exactly anything new.
He was happy with the lifeguarding gig, in theory. Definitely happy that he’d bucked the trend and not shipped off to college last fall like everybody else in his class. He’d decided that he was going to figure out his own way, and his mom could just deal with it. But the plan had been to work at the pool for a few months until he’d figured out something else, gotten a real job, moved into his own place, maybe even gotten a boyfriend. None of which had happened. Particularly not the boyfriend part.
There had been exactly nothing going on in the boyfriend department, not even a date, nothing. A few furtive trips to an all-ages gay club, but he couldn’t get up the nerve to talk to anyone. And he spent the rest of his time shuttling between the pool and his mom’s house, neither of which tended to present him with a lot of romantic opportunities. The only new person he’d spoken to lately was his neighbor, a recent transplant from the east coast named Alex who was almost certainly straight and who was ridiculously, frustratingly hot. Dark hair and eyes against perfect pale skin, with an athlete’s body and a deep voice that held just a hint of a Boston accent, just enough to make him mysterious and different from the rest. Alex had crept into Chris’s thoughts an embarrassing amount recently, just more proof of how pathetic and hard up he was. Damn it.
Chris rolled his eyes at himself, cursing himself for drooling over his straight neighbor again, thumping the steering wheel with the heel of his hand, wondering yet again what the hell he was doing with his life. He’d been wondering that a lot lately. And ever since Seth’s last e-mail, in which he’d said he’d be home all summer and was looking forward to seeing him, fucking looking forward to seeing him, he’d been sleepless with excitement. He’d actually been counting down the days until Seth’s arrival, and how pathetic was that?
It couldn’t all be in his head. It couldn’t be. Chris shifted in his seat, licking his lips involuntarily as his mind filled with images of the last time they’d seen each other before Seth left last summer. When they’d had a few beers, or maybe more than a few, and then Seth had been on his bed, on top of him, his mouth pressed against Chris’s in that hard, strong, demanding way he had. And everything else had been hard and demanding too. And it was different from the other times they’d done this, when Chris had tried so hard to hold back, not to touch anything below Seth’s neck, not to make a move that would freak him out and send him running for the door again. And that was okay. Seth’s hair was a mass of thick honey-brown curls, soft and messy, so different from Chris’s, and Chris loved running his hands through it when they kissed. Loved the approving little sounds Seth made when he did that. Loved how Seth would take off his glasses and toss them to the side, pull Chris a little closer, kiss him a little more. But he always stopped, always freaked out, always left. Once, he ran out so quickly that he had to come back for his glasses. Chris just handed them to him wordlessly, and he took them without speaking, freezing in the doorway for a moment, staring. But then he turned his back and hurried out the door again.
The next part was always the same. Seth would avoid him for a little while, and then start talking to him again, pretending everything was normal, that they were just buds, that they hadn’t been playing tonsil hockey on the floor of Chris’s room the previous Friday night. Then it would happen again, and then Seth would freak out again. And Chris never called him on it, never pushed him on it, never said a thing. Which maybe, yeah, sucked. But Seth was beautiful, and he had these deep brown eyes that Chris couldn’t get out of his head, and a long, lean body that Chris couldn’t stop thinking about when he jerked off. So every time Seth came back, Chris played along. One of these days, he wouldn’t freak, and they could finish what they started.
And the weekend before Labor Day, that’s sort of what happened. Kind of. Seth came over with the beers in his backpack, smuggling them past Chris’s mom and up to Chris’s room. They played Final Fantasy, and they drank beers, and they turned the stereo way up, and they drank some more beers. And then Chris had been spinning around to the music, laughing, and Seth just grabbed him and kissed him so hard he took his breath away. And they fell onto the bed together, or maybe Seth pushed him onto the bed, maybe that was it. But Seth was on top of him, his glasses on the floor, his tongue in Chris’s mouth, grinding into him. And Chris’s hands were on Seth’s ass and Seth was not stopping him, and their legs got all tangled up as they moved together, and one of them was moaning, or maybe both of them were, and within about ten seconds Chris was bucking his hips and squeezing Seth tight and gasping into his shoulder as he came in his jeans. And then Seth’s breathing got even harder and he kept pushing forward and then he came too, his ass clenching tight under Chris’s hands, a desperate groan coming out of him. He kind of fell off him then, sliding to the side, and Chris held onto his hand and somehow drifted off to sleep. And when he woke up, it was late, his jeans were cold and sticky and gross, and Seth was gone. Which didn’t even really surprise him.
He had waited a few days, and then called. But he got voice mail, which meant Seth was avoiding him, because he always picked up his phone. So he didn’t call again, and then Seth left for college, and he thought maybe that would be it, he’d never see him again. Which was okay. He told himself it would be okay. It was fine. It would be.
But a month later, Seth e-mailed him out of the blue. Hey, what’s up man. Casual and sloppy and poorly punctuated. Just like Seth. Havent talked in a while. School sukcs. Hows the pool?
Chris had stared at that e-mail for a long time, trying to decide whether to respond. You don’t need this shit, he thought. He’s closeted and stupid and can’t deal. Don’t let him off the hook. Get yourself a real boyfriend. Don’t even answer him. He was still thinking that when he typed his reply.
So now here it was, seven months later, and Seth was coming home today. A year of college under his belt, of classes and parties and all kinds of new experiences. He was probably a whole new person by now. And Chris was exactly the same. Still at his mom’s house, still working at the pool, still spending his free time drawing his dumb sketches, like he always had. And still very, very single. Painfully single, you might say. Not like his neighbor, who had that cool, confident, sexy thing going, that way about him that could make anybody smile. Alex probably dated women by the dozens, leaving a string of broken hearts from Orange County to Boston and back again. Chris knew he could never be like that, strong and brave and the kind of guy who drew others to him. Even if he were as fucking beautiful as Alex was. Which he wasn’t, not by a mile.
And so that one stupid time with Seth, that stupid fucking sexual accident, was still the only time Chris had ever come with another person in the room. Pathetic. He glared at himself in the rearview mirror, then looked out at the cars ahead of him. The cars shifted, a space opened up, and he cut over to the next lane, then drove up onto the shoulder and sped toward the exit. He was tired of fucking waiting.
God, it’s hot. Alex wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, setting down the garden shears for a moment to stretch. He hadn’t been in California long, just a couple of months so far, and he wasn’t used to the way the damned sun just never went away. Boston could get hot in the summers, no doubt about it, but not like this, not this unending stream of sunniness that could make even the happiest of guys wish for a cold and rainy day. There’s something downright unnatural about a place where it doesn’t rain.
Picking up his water bottle, Alex looked over his hedges as he took a long, slow drink. For a Saturday, there sure weren’t many people around. He never should have moved to the suburbs-he was used to a bustling neighborhood, sitting on the stoop and hanging out with his friends, walking through a street fair and piling into a cab with three other guys when it was time to go home. Here, there was no walking, no street fairs, and so far, not many friends. Just Marty, but an old ex-boyfriend from five years ago only carries you so far. And he’d been out with Marty a few times, but he couldn’t get into the club scene here, the way it was all about the clothes, the hair, the look. And living in a rented house in Costa Mesa turned out to be not the coolest possible choice for a twenty-six-year-old software engineer. Not that the place had kept him from hooking up at all, but he certainly wasn’t doing as well as he had back east.
It was his own fault for renting the house online, but he’d needed something quick, and he hadn’t had time to check out the neighborhoods. So he’d ended up here, surrounded by het families with their dogs and their minivans and their two point five kids, and now he was spending his Saturday afternoon trimming his hedges. Trimming his fucking hedges. How had his life come to this?
He glanced over to the house next door, and saw that the unfamiliar car was still sitting in the driveway. He’d gotten to know his neighbors a little bit by now, at least well enough to know who lived here and what they drove. And the kid in the convertible definitely did not belong. Tall, with a mop of curly hair, a pair of trendy heavy-rimmed glasses, and a vaguely uneasy expression on his face. Twice already, he’d started to back out of the driveway, but then pulled back in again. Right now, he was sitting in the car with the engine running, staring at the front door. Like he was trying to work up his nerve.
It was the Bennett house, one of the less crowded places on the block. Just a single mom named Lois and her son Chris, a good-looking nineteen-year-old with clear blue eyes and California blond hair that had a tendency to flop forward into his face in an endearing kind of way. Alex and Chris had chatted a few times in the past few months, enough that Alex’s gaydar had activated, enough that he knew Chris was bored and restless and looking for something new. And okay, maybe Alex had wondered if an older guy might be the something that Chris was looking for. But he squashed the thought immediately. This was southern California; the place was crawling with gays. There was no need to hit on a teenager just because he lived next door. And had the body of a God, and a habit of walking around shirtless. He closed his eyes, mentally smacking himself on the forehead. Don’t go there, he warned. Twenty-six is too young to be a dirty old man.
When he opened his eyes again, wouldn’t you know it, Chris was pulling up to the house, and Curly was already out of his car, walking up to him. Chris got out, and they stared at each other. That kind of stare. And then Chris smiled a little, and Curly nervously smiled back. Without talking, Chris walked to his front door, and Curly followed right behind him, eyes glued to Chris’s ass. Alex grinned, shaking his head a little. Looks like Chris found what he was looking for without your help. Rolling his eyes, he took another sip from his water bottle and checked his watch. Fuck! Marty’s going to kill me. He grabbed his shears and headed into the house. The hedges would have to wait.
Seth stood by the bookshelf in Chris’s room, arms folded, staring at the titles, not seeing any of them, not really. Pretending not to listen to the sound of the shower in the next room. Pretending not to think about the fact that Chris was naked in there, soaping himself, touching himself, maybe thinking about Seth. Stop it, he told himself. Don’t make this a bigger deal than it is. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turned around and walked to Chris’s doorway, leaning against the jamb, wondering for the hundredth time what he was doing there.
“So how’ve you been?” he called, toeing the carpet. Talking would make it easier. The silence was getting to him.
“Okay.” Chris’s voice came floating back to him, calm, quiet, like Chris always was. Fucking impossible to read. “Not much changes around here.”
“Yeah.” Shit. Say something else. There’s got to be something else to say.
Luckily, Chris found something for him. “What’s Maine like?”
“Oh, y’know, good. Really different.”
“I bet. Can’t get much farther from Orange County than that.”
Seth furrowed his brow. What did he mean by that? “That’s not why I went there.”
Chris was silent for a beat. “I know,” he said at last. But there was something else in his voice. Fuck. What the hell is he talking about? What the hell are you doing here?
Exhaling in frustration, Seth moved away from the door and walked back into the room, looking out the window, crossing his arms again. This was stupid. He hadn’t even planned on coming here. He’d only been back in town a few hours, and there were a lot of people he wanted to see. Maybe he should just take off. The shower shut off, and Seth’s chest got tight. This was definitely a bad idea. Make up an excuse. Tell Chris your parents want to see you, or you forgot about dinner plans. Something.
“Hey,” Chris said, the voice soft behind him, and Seth turned around, ready to explain. But Chris was right there, a towel around his waist, droplets of water clinging to his bare chest, his eyes boring into Seth’s with the clearest invitation in the world. Stay, they said. Stay and I’ll make it worth your while. And somehow, all of Seth’s words disappeared. Rational thought disappeared. Everything disappeared except the need to throw Chris on the bed and get rid of that stupid towel. “I-” Chris began. But Seth was on him, having crossed the room without even realizing he’d moved from the window, crushing their mouths together, grabbing his naked flesh, backing him toward the bed.
Sometime before they reached it, the towel dropped away.